Political Hay
by Clavyus
Summary: Charlotte and Fred have a little conversation at the Oval Office.


AN: A little one-shot in the hopes of getting this domain moving. I loved the movie. I own nothing related to Long Shot. Rated 'T' for coarse language and innuendo.

The White House, January 3rd, 2022

Fred 'The First Mister' Field has been getting pretty restless. One year since 'I can't believe she loves me' Charlotte Field got sworn in, and he still feels like a square peg in a crazy, cloud-shaped hole. Sure, he's still helping the White House staff write her speeches. He meets dignitaries, hosts White House tours, goes on ceremonies, state dinners and shakes a whole lot of hands. He's a good boy, and he knew exactly what he had signed on for. Four years. Eight, if they don't screw it up too badly. The sex is still, oh my god, beyond belief. When they get around to it. The bottom line, raw truth of it is that he misses her like crazy. And he is fucking bored out of his skull.

He's known since kindergarten. A bored Fred is a dangerous Fred. A busy mind, that's what he needs. A busy mind. He opens his computer and, for the twentieth time, begins to go over her State of the Union speech. It's due to be delivered in eight days. They've gone through the highlights together. The economy, still recovering from real-estate bubbles and stupid wars. The social agenda. The entitled rich have to pay more. Jobs, immigration, road infrastructure. The environment, the issue closest to Charlotte's heart. He reads the document, all eight thousand words of it. Mealy mouthed, side of the issues speech. And he still finds it bland. Can't offend these guys. Can't offend those others... fuck!

He closes his computer without saving the changes. His intercom buzzes. It's Sunday afternoon. Why the hell is his intercom buzzing?

"Yes?"

A pleasant female voice. Not his secretary. "Mr. Field, the President is requesting your presence."

"Where is she?"

"Oval Office, sir."

"I'm on my way."

It takes him five minutes to walk from his office to hers. The place is quiet, as it usually is on Sundays. The receptionist, a sweet looking african-american intern waves him in.

He's surprised to see her sitting by herself on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. She looks a little shell-shocked. "Hi."

She lifts her head, looks him in the eyes and smiles weakly. His heart contracts to a small pimple inside his chest. Something is up. Sure, in her business, something is always up. But things don't usually phase his superhero wife. "What's up, love?"

Her smile widens a bit and she pats the sofa next to her. He scurries down and sits. She grabs his face and gives him a kiss on the lips, which quickly deepens to the french variety. Suddenly, he's got a lap full of president, and he's making out with his wife in the Oval Office. Life is... good. Very good.

They tear themselves apart, both aware of microphones in the walls, and their somewhat odd reluctance of going all the way inside Democracy's inner sanctum.

The laugh, still a bit shy after all this time. "Before you leave office..." He lets his sentence dangle, a bit unwilling to complete his thought.

"Before I leave office?"

"Well..."

She frowns at him. "What?"

"I wouldn't mind fucking you on top of the Resolution desk."

She laughs. "You wouldn't mind fucking me anywhere, perv."

"Point."

There's a short silence. "How's the State of the Union coming along?"

Now it's his turn to frown. "Bland. But you didn't call me to ask that."

"No I didn't"

Another silence. "Then why did you, for crying out loud?"

"Well... Justice Thomas passed away this morning."

I get up and start pacing. "Bush's Thomas... Holy cow!"

She giggles. The president giggles! She says she loves seeing me worked up. "Replacing him is going to be the Devil's own handiwork."

"I know... with the Senate divided the way it is... you need a solid minority judge with impeccable credentials... I just can't think of anybody right off the bat."

"I'll put together a team to look for one. I want you in it." She knows her husband has an instinct for people that's ten times better than hers. Call it a journalist's nose.

"That's fine." He's not bored anymore. "You know what this comes down to, right."

"Of course. Roe."

"If you just toe the party line you won't get anyone nominated."

She sighs. "I hate abortion." She says it again, louder. "I hate abortion! It's the sickest of all sick issues."

"Right."

"Specially now..."

There's a long silence. Fred stops pacing and stares at her. He whispers. "What exactly do you mean, specially now?"

A small smile. "Remember Thanksgiving?"

"You mean the holiday, or last years Thanksgiving at Camp David?"

Her smile widens. His heart stops beating. "Last year's"

He finds his voice. "Yeah. I remember it."

"Fred..."

"Charlotte?"

"I think you knocked up the President."

He screams. "You think?"

She flinches. "I know you did."

He starts jumping up and down, unable to contain himself. "Holy Fuck!" He stops and looks at her. She's tense as a violin string. "We never talked about this, did we?"

She sighs. "No we didn't. I take it by your reaction that you approve."

"Approve?" Louder. "Approve? You've just made me the happiest..." A tear. His heart freezes in his chest. "You didn't want this?"

"I'm forty, babe. I'd given up on it. Do you know the odds?"

He sits back on the couch and pulls her to his lap. She is trembling. He whispers. "Do you want this?"

"Yes." A long pause. "More than anything."

"Fuck!"

"I'm afraid, babe."

"You're Charlotte. You're not afraid of anything."

"First pregnancy at forty? While holding a high-stress job I can't dump on anyone else? Yeah, Fred. I'm fucking petrified."

Fred nods. "I understand."

"I'm going to need you. More than ever."

He places his hand on her flat abdomen. "I'm here. For both of you."

She's openly crying. "You better be, babe." Now he's crying too.

They stay there, half an hour of so. In the back of his mind, Fred is surprised that nobody comes to interrupt them with some crisis or another. Then he realizes. She probably threatened nuclear retaliation if anyone does it.

"Now you see why I don't want to be discussing terminating pregnancies, right?"

Fred's brain starts moving. From a slow spinning, to a frantic high speed buzz. "Do you have any idea of the political consequences?"

Her brain starts spinning too. "You mean..."

"Right. Who is going to be waving pro-life's flags in the face of a pregnant President."

"A pregnant President... I like that."

"Hell. I'm in love with that."

She stares at the wall "The future of our children..."

"An environment suitable for the next generation..."

"Building the basis for our children's prosperity..."

"Fuck."

He kisses her. "We're shameless."

"I know! Making political hay out of our poor son or daughter..."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Son. Just like you."

He laughs. "Are you crazy? I want another Charlotte."

She gives him one of her mischievous smiles. "Careful what you wish for."

They stay there, enjoying each others warmth. "Your re-election is all but sown up. Who would kick a two-year-old out of her home?"

She laughs, Loud. "Nobody in their right mind."

"I'm gonna have to scrap the State of Union speech."

"Isn't it a bit early to announce it?"

"Twelve weeks is the standard, I guess."

"I'm currently ten weeks along."

"So next week is about right?"

"Close enough for government work."

"Oh, boy... It's going to be a blast."

"Count on you to make a suitably non-boring new speech."

"You got it, Mrs. President. Swinging for the fences."

"Oh, boy. Sports metaphors."

"Sorry."

"That idea of yours..."

"Which idea?"

She points her thumb at her desk. "The desk..."

He smiles. "What about it?"

"Inauguration day, second term."

""Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"We're gonna have to find a good babysitter."

"I'm sure the Secret Service already has a couple vetted."

"They are efficient, those guys."

"Oh, you betcha. They probably knew before I did."

"I bet they did."


End file.
